


Afraid of Heights.

by IAmTheNightman98



Series: Afraid of Heights. [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Lesbian AU, Vegas, oops i married a stranger and oh damn she’s cute, power top brooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheNightman98/pseuds/IAmTheNightman98
Summary: Brooke wakes up with a strange, captivating young woman in her bed and a gold wedding band on her finger.They have to fix this mess as soon as possible.If only they could keep their hands off each other for long enough to do so. If only something as inconvenient as their feelings weren’t getting in the way.





	Afraid of Heights.

Panic sets in before Brooke even opens her eyes. 

 

Fuzzy memories of the night before flash through her mind. 

 

Poker. Expensive whiskey. Brash, loud laughter. 

 

A chapel. 

 

She’s having a heart attack. 

 

Her chest seizes up and her breath hitches in her throat. Her eyes squeeze tightly shut, as though blocking out the memories will make them any less real.

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 

This type of thing doesn’t happen to people like her. It’s just can't be real. It can’t be. 

 

Her eyes open and she takes a deep breath as she carefully lifts her left hand towards her face. The gold band on her ring finger her is a cruel taunt at her stupidity. It glints in the sunlight. She can hear it mocking. 

 

A groan from beside her snaps her from her thoughts and she turns around to see the woman laying in her bed. 

 

The bed is king-sized, but somehow the five foot two woman beside her manages to take up three-quarters of it. Her petite, very naked body is stretched out on the sheets. Her voluminous brown curls are splayed out on the pillow around her head, framing her face like it’s a priceless work of art. Love bites litter her neck and chest. Brooke feels a pang of arousal in her abdomen as she recalls putting them there. 

 

Memories of the night before flood her brain once more. Brooke rememberers how the woman’s soft skin felt against her own. Legs wrapped tightly around her waist and neck. She only knows the woman’s name because she remembers whispering it, moaning it, screaming it. Multiple times over. 

 

_ Vanessa.  _

 

Shit. If she absolutely had to be a drunken stereotype and get married to a stranger in Vegas, at least she’d picked a smoking hot one to do it with. 

 

-x-

 

_ Vanessa moans loudly as Brooke sucks on the exposed skin above her collarbone. Her legs are wrapped around Brooke’s waist, her small hands grip the porcelain rim of the sink that she’s perched on.  _

 

_ “What are you?” Brooke growls into her neck, then runs her teeth over Vanessa’s rapidly bruising, sensitive skin.  _

 

_ A small whimper escapes her lips.  _

 

_ “What are you?” Brooke repeats, more firmly this time. She drags her fingernails teasingly over Vanessa’s inner thighs.  _

 

_ She whimpers again. “I’m yours.” She whispers.  _

 

_ “Louder.” _

 

_ “I’m yours. I’m yours.”  _

 

_ It’s what Brooke wants to hear, but it isn’t enough. Vanessa can say the words. Brooke can mark her skin. But she needs more. She pulls back from Vanessa’s grip. “Get down.”  _

 

_ “Why?” _

 

_ “We’re getting married.” _

 

-x-

 

As Brooke showers, more memories come. 

 

Vividly, she can see Vanessa sitting on her knee at a roulette table. How they’d gotten there, Brooke couldn’t recall, but she could picture that moment so clearly. One arm draped lazily over the armrest, delicately balancing a martini glass in her hand and Vanessa tucked firmly under the other, purring words of utter filth into her ear. 

 

Brooke isn’t a gambler. It’s not how she makes her money, it’s simply how she chooses to spend it. She doesn’t get a rush from the uncertainty or the prospect of winning big. No, what she likes is the power. She relishes in all eyes being on her. Watching as she puts a cool thousand on eleven, just because it’s Vanessa’s favourite number. 

 

She’s at a point in her life where its the only real fun she can have with her wealth. 

 

She likes to be bold. Make statements. Be unashamed. 

 

Last night was supposed to have been a chance for her to let her hair down. Forget about the company. Forget about deadlines and designers and Paris Fashion Week. Put on her sultry red dress with the slit that reaches the top of her thigh and let herself feel like the whole world revolves around her. Given the trajectory of Brooke’s career at present, it won’t be long until she’s unable to enjoy anonymity in a crowd. She needs to make the most of being a rich, alluring stranger whilst she still can. 

 

She had wanted to find just the right girl to show off on her arm then drag up to the penthouse suite. Young enough to be coy and innocent, old enough to have her wits about her. Confident enough to tell Brooke what she wants, but submissive enough to lay there and take it. Vanessa had been the perfect choice. 

 

Fucking Vanessa was part of the plan. Marrying her wasn’t.

 

-x-

 

_ “You’re sure you want to do this, Mami?”  _

 

_ Brooke doesn’t want to answer that question. This is a terrible decision. It’s the most reckless, poorly thought through, fucking insane thing she’s ever done. There’s no reason for it. She can’t think of a single positive thing that will come from this. She’s drunk, but not drunk enough for it to be an excuse.   _

 

_ Then she sees Vanessa looking up at her. Big doe eyes full of excitement and passion and desire. Eyelashes fluttering delicately. Endless possibilities.  _

 

_ “I’m sure.” _

 

-x-

 

Brooke’s robe hangs open, draped loosely over her shoulders. She’s proud of her body. It takes hard work to look as good as she does. 

 

When she gets back to the hotel bedroom, the bed is empty. 

 

Her eyes flare wide with anger, and she inhales sharply. She’s about to grab her phone to call her assistant and have him launch a city wide manhunt for this woman that thinks she can run off whilst they’re still married, when she notices that Vanessa’s skimpy black dress from the night before is still on the ground. Unless she’s run off naked, she’s still in the suite. 

 

Brooke finds her in the lounge. The rising sun outlines her perfect silhouette where she stands in the floor to ceiling windows, looking outwards. The glass is still faintly smudged from where Brooke had fucked her against it the night before. 

 

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” 

 

She has her left hand on the glass and Brooke can see her ring. It’s lavish. Gold band, glinting white diamonds. In a twisted way, she’s proud of herself for choosing that ring. It’s not exactly Cartier, but it’s a good choice given the circumstances. Don’t let it be said that Brooke Lynn Hytes doesn’t treat her ladies right. 

 

But Vanessa isn’t talking about the ring, she’s talking about the view. They’re so high up that they can see the city stretched out before them, then the expanse of Nevada desert beyond it. The sun is only peeking over the horizon, threatening to expose all of their mistakes in the light of day. 

 

“It’s something.”

 

-x- 

 

_ “Do you believe in aliens, Brooke?”  _

 

_ They’re laying on their backs on the balcony of Brooke’s hotel bedroom, gazing up at the stars. Three hours since they got married. Three minutes since they’d most recently fucked.  _

 

_ The ring on Brooke’s finger burns.  _

 

_ She hasn’t answered the question. She isn’t going to.  _

 

_ “What about fate?” _

 

_ “Hmm?” _

 

_ “Fate. You believe in it?” _

 

_ Brooke sighs deeply. “No, baby.”  _

 

_ She doesn’t believe in fate or astrology or a bigger game at play. Logic and reason, sure. But the idea that really, everything in her life could be beyond her control, no. She can’t accept that. Things happen because she wants them to.  _

 

_ This has happened because she wanted it to.  _

 

_ Vanessa shivers beside her, so Brooke scoots a little closer and drapes her arm protectively over her waist.  _

 

-x-

 

They stand there, looking everywhere except at each other, the silence growing more tense by the second, as if they’re both waiting for the other person to break it. 

 

“So,” Brooke finally starts, walking across the floor towards Vanessa. “You’re my wife.” She stops when there’s less than a foot between them. Vanessa has to crane her neck to look upwards and meet Brooke’s eye. 

 

The younger woman swallows and her breath hitches. Anticipation? Arousal? Fear? All three? Brooke can’t tell. 

 

Vanessa nods. “And you’re mine.”

 

Her chest tightens again, like all the air has been sucked from the room. This is real. This is really fucking happening. She clenches her jaw and resists the urge to lean down and brush the stray hairs from Vanessa’s face. 

 

“Who should I call first: room service or my lawyers?”

 

There’s a glint in Vanessa’s eye as she chews on her bottom lip and shakes her head. Slowly, but boldly, her hands raise to the lapels of Brooke’s robe. Brooke doesn’t resist as Vanessa pushes the material away from her. It falls to the floor by her feet. “I don’t think you should call nobody, Mami.” 

 

Brooke’s fingernails dig into her palm but she can’t look away. They shouldn’t do this. Fucking isn’t going to solve this problem. Fucking will only make this worse. It will complicate things. Without intending to, she ghosts her fingertips up Vanessa’s sides, relishing in the feeling of her impossibly soft skin. 

 

A beat passes. Then another. Fuck it. 

 

“Get on your knees.”

 

-x-

 

_ “So you’re like, rich rich?” Vanessa slurs as the elevator opens up into Brooke’s hotel suite. Penthouse at the Bellagio.  _

 

_ “You could say that.” Brooke smirks.  _

 

_ Vanessa looks around as though she’s only just realising how extreme this is. As though Brooke’s careless gambling, hundred-dollar martinis and the giant diamond ring she’s wearing on her finger weren’t enough to tip her off already.  _

 

_ As Vanessa drags her fingers along the lavish upholstery of the sofa, Brooke is struck with a thought that takes the breath from her lungs.  _

 

_ They didn’t sign a prenup. Fuck, she didn’t even think about it.  _

 

_ Vanessa may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’s savvy. And she’s probably smarter than Brooke’s giving her credit for. Before too long, she’s going to connect the dots and realise that she can use this marriage to gain wealth beyond her wildest dreams.  _

 

_ Her mind starts reeling, thinking of all the things she can do to as damage control. Maybe she could transfer her shares in the company over to a trust, or spread them between the board of investors? Liquidate all of her personal assets and move the proceeds to an offshore account? If she doesn’t, the petite Latina currently gazing out of the window at the dazzling lights of Vegas could bring Hause of Hytes to its knees.  _

 

_ Then she sees Vanessa reaching behind her back to grab the zipper of her dress. She’s still facing away from Brooke, looking out of the window, as she slides the zipper down.  _

 

_ Fuck it. Everything else can wait until later.  _

 

_ Brooke crosses the room with purpose and grips Vanessa’s waist from behind. Stoops down so that her mouth is millimetres from the shorter woman’s ear. “Are you afraid?” _

 

_ She’s talking about the height, it’s a long way down. The cars look like fireflies beneath them. But she could easily be talking about so much more. Are you afraid that you’ve just married a woman you’ve only known for the night? Are you afraid that you’ve stepped into a world so unfamiliar to you? Are you afraid that I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name?  _

 

_ “A little.” Vanessa breathes out.  _

 

_ Brooke tugs at the material of Vanessa’s dress so that it falls away from her body. Vanessa shudders as Brooke drags her nails down her naked back. She squeezes Vanessas ass gently, then uses her knee to nudge Vanessa’s legs apart. Her fingers graze over the woman’s inner thigh, then she rubs her softly through her panties.  _

 

_ “Brooke.” Vanessa moans as Brooke drops a line of hot wet kisses along her shoulder and up the slope of her neck.  _

 

_ “Yes, baby?” _

 

_ “What if the window breaks and we fall.”  _

 

_ “Then we die.” _

 

-x-

 

Realistically, Brooke can’t spend the rest of her life fucking Vanessa to avoid all her problems, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t give it a try. The sex is rough and needy and right on the cusp of pleasure and pain, so by the third round of mutual orgasms, Vanessa practically begs for a break. 

 

She purrs an invitation to join her in the shower into Brooke’s ear, but Brooke declines. It’s time to start taking this seriously. 

 

Brooke chain smokes three cigarettes out on the balcony before she can even pick up the phone. 

 

Three missed calls. One from Scarlet Envy’s agents, enquiring about the possibility of a collaboration for fall 2020. Hard pass. One from her mother. She can deal with that later. One from the publicity team for Paris Fashion Week, asking for a statement about the inspiration behind her spring collection for the brochure. 

 

Yesterday, all of these issues would’ve sent Brooke spiralling. Her workload was pressing on her like a vice clamped around her chest. She would’ve agonised for hours over the exact wording of her statement for Fashion Week or chewed the skin around her nails in anxious anticipation of returning her mother’s call. But today, none of it seems to matter. 

 

She deletes all three voicemails and calls her lawyers. 

 

-x-

 

_ Brooke stands of the fringes of the casino floor, sipping her whiskey, looking for just the right woman to be her companion for the evening.  _

 

_ There’s a petite asian girl sitting at a slot machine on the fringes of what looks to be a bachelorette party. Stunningly beautiful. Looks like the type of girl that would benefit from a woman’s touch. But she’s not Brooke’s type at all. She’s too polished and perfect. Brooke likes her women to be a little rough around the edges.  _

 

_ Two machines down from the woman, there’s another. Latina. Gorgeous, too. She’s getting more and more frustrated with the game. Brooke smirks. She’s got a temper. But she needs a little more. Come on, Brooke dares, show me that you’re worth my interest.  _

 

_ As if on queue, she slams her fist against the machine and starts spouting profanities like a sailor. She’s a brat. Bingo.  _

 

_ Brooke needs to make her move quickly before the woman gets herself kicked out. Like a lioness on the prowl, she moves across the casino floor.  _

 

-x-

 

Her lawyers are taking the company jet from Toronto. They will arrive in just over five hours. 

 

Considering the scale of the fuck up, the legal team had the good sense to maintain a very firm air of professionalism throughout the phone call. Most likely due to the fact that Brooke would have them fired before they even opened their mouths if they had decided to issue their judgment. 

 

The two pieces of advice they gave her were very clear. Don’t let her work out who you are. Don’t let her out of your sight. 

 

The fact that her lawyers seem to be treating Vanessa like some kind of scheming mastermind doesn’t sit right with her. It makes her feel a certain amount of guilt that she isn’t ready to deal with. 

 

Brooke was the one that sought Vanessa out. She pursued her. Brooke was the one to propose. Brooke dragged her into this mess. It’s her fault. 

 

She’s a terrible person. 

 

Maybe she should just step aside and let Vanessa take half of everything she owns. It’s what she deserves for letting her possessive, almost predatory side, rear its ugly head. Jesus, what kind of person marries a woman she’s only just met to prove a point?

 

Nausea hits her like a wave. 

 

She panics as her vision blurs, until she realises it’s because she’s crying. 

 

A small hand on her lower back guides her back inside and towards the bed. “It’s okay. Everything gonna be okay,” whispered over and over again. 

 

They huddle together beneath the sheets and Brooke thinks this may be the first time she’s cried in front of another person in her entire adult life. “I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. 

 

“You don’t gotta be sorry, baby.”

 

Brooke shakes her head. “This is my fault.”

 

“It takes two to tango, Mami.” Vanessa chuckles. “We’re in this mess together. I’ve got you.”

 

A lump forms in Brooke’s throat. 

 

All her life she’s looked after herself. Handled her problems alone. She doesn’t have a best friend. No siblings. Her relationship with her parents is cordial at best. Her pathetic excuse for a love life amounts to nothing more than a string of one night stands. The closest thing she has to a person that looks out for her needs is her assistant. How fucking pathetic. 

 

But now there’s Vanessa. They’ve known each other for less than twenty four hours and already she’s prepared to tackle this problem as a team.  _ Together.  _ It’s wrong and foolish and crazy, but Brooke isn’t ready for this feeling to end. 

 

She pulls the covers up over her their heads, blocking out almost all of the light, and rests her face on the pillow beside Vanessa’s. Noses tip to tip. They’re the only two people in the world. 

 

“Kiss me,” she whispers. 

 

Vanessa’s lips are hot and needy against hers. Her tongue probes against Brooke’s lips insistently, but Brooke pulls away. “Gently,” she clarifies. 

 

This time, it’s slower. They’ve kissed a lot over the short time that they’ve been in one another’s company, but never like this. Closed mouth. Delicate. Almost chaste. 

 

She’s going to cry again. 

 

-x-

 

_ “Do you love me?” _

 

_ The question is almost accusatory.  _

 

_ If she says yes, she’s the fool that believes in love in first sight, but if she says no, she’s the fool that’s now legally bound to spend her life with a woman she doesn’t love. Answering the question is a lose-lose situation.  _

 

_ They’re sitting in the parking lot of a ice cream parlour, sharing a sundae. Their first official date as wife and wife. Brooke stares at the bright, artificial blue and pink flavours swirled together as she tries to think of her answer.  _

 

_ “You married me. You must love me,” Vanessa tells her, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  _

 

_ Brooke doesn’t love her. She can’t love her. They’ve known each other for six hours. This isn’t love. _

 

_ And yet.  _

 

_ She feels something that she’s never felt before. She feels something tugging her towards Vanessa, like an invisible tether between their two souls. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen.  _

 

_ And yet.  _

 

_ It has.  _

 

_ “I love this,” Brooke tells her. It’s an evasive answer, but it’s the only thing she can say for certain. _

 

_ “I love this too.” _

 

-x-

 

Vanessa is asleep against her chest. Their limbs are tangled together beneath the sheets and Brooke stares at the ceiling trying to unravel the knot in the pit of her stomach. 

 

It’s two in the afternoon. Where the time went, she doesn’t know, but she wishes that it would stop moving so quickly. Because as soon as the lawyers arrive, the spell is broken. Their fairytale like dalliance will be over and they will move on with their lives, like two ships passing in the night. 

 

Vanessa stirs slightly and nuzzles into her, and idly Brooke raises her hand to stroke Vanessa's hair. It smells like cheap hotel shampoo, but it’s soft between Brooke’s fingers. When she drags her fingernails lightly over Vanessa’s scalp, she sighs in content. 

 

A sharp knock at the door to the suite startles them both. A beat passes and neither move. Brooke squeezes her eyes tightly shut, but she doesn’t know why. 

 

Another knock. 

 

“So, this is it then?” Vanessa says, her voice barely above a whisper. 

 

-x- 

 

_ “She wears her heart on her sleeve you know.”  _

 

_ Brooke turns to face the woman that’s speaking to her. Well, they’re the only two people in the bathroom, so she assumes the woman must be talking to her.  _

 

_ Brooke quirks her eyebrow questioningly.  _

 

_ She recognises the woman from the bachelorette party she’d seen Vanessa with. Sophie? Silky? Something like that. Not that it matters.  _

 

_ “Vanjie wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s easily hurt. She got this idea in her mind that she’s gonna find ‘the one’ and everything’s gonna fall into place.” _

 

_ Brooke is assuming ‘Vanjie’ is Vanessa. A twinge of annoyance overcomes her and her face sharpens into a scowl. This is supposed to be a one night stand. Vanessa’s feelings aren’t supposed to be something she has to take into account.  _

 

_ “Why should I care about that?” Brooke challenges.  _

 

_ “Cause you’re gonna fuck her then dump her ass on the curb before the sun comes up. She deserves better than that.”  _

 

_ Brooke rolls her eyes as she pulls out a paper towel to dry her hands. Who does this woman think she is? Cornering her in the bathroom to give her a lecture about hurting feelings. “Vanessa is an adult, she can look after herself.” _

 

_ “Bitch, if you’re gonna be up in here letting her sit in your lap, making her feel all special and shit, then it’s your responsibility to look after her too.”  _

 

_ “I’m not responsible for her. I don’t need to look out for anyone but myself. She’s a grown woman and she knows what she’s doing. If she gets hurt, that’s her problem.” _

 

-x- 

 

Sharp suit. Stiletto heels. Red lipstick. 

 

Soft, emotionally vulnerable Brooke is gone. Now, she means business. It’s time to stop fucking around. 

 

Her two lawyers sit on either side of her on the large sofa. Her assistant is in the armchair, ready to take notes. 

 

Vanessa sits across from them, on a sofa alone. She’s wearing Brooke’s leggings and an oversized t-shirt. It was all Brooke had to give her and since there was no fucking way she would be able to do this with Vanessa sitting in her skin tight black dress and thigh high lace up boots from the night before, it seemed like the best option. But now, Brooke is regretting Vanessa’s clothing choice. 

 

It makes her look small, vulnerable and afraid. Brooke is half an ounce of self restraint away from calling the whole thing off. 

 

When she is handed a sleek black folder with Hause of Hytes embossed in gold lettering on the front, she looks up at Brooke questioningly. Brooke can see the moment the penny drops. The look of realisation as she understands the exact identity of her new wife. 

 

Brooke nods curtly in confirmation. 

 

“Miss Mateo,” the lawyer on Brooke’s left starts. “Enclosed in your folder, you’ll find divorce papers and a non-disclosure agreement. Please sign and initial at the relevant tabs.”

 

She opens the folder and, in that moment, a multitude of emotions pass over her face. All of them negative. 

 

Confusion. Anger. Hurt. 

 

She takes something from the top of the folder and holds it in both hands. “The fuck is this?” She laughs in discomfort and shakes her head. 

 

The lawyer clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s a cheque.”

 

“I can see that, I ain’t blind, Papi. One hundred thousand dollars. I mean what the fuck is it in here for? I know you rich but surely you don’t wanna be leaving this shit laying around.”

 

“We trust that is a satisfactory amount for your cooperation and discretion on the matter.”

 

Brooke’s fists clench in anger. They hadn't talked about this on the phone. Vanessa shakes her head in disbelief as she realises what the money’s for, but seemingly the lawyer misinterprets her meaning. 

 

“Miss Mateo, I can assure you that we won’t be going any higher,” he says in a disgustingly patronising tone. 

 

It’s like a knife to Brooke’s heart. They think she’s some kind of gold digger who’s here for Brooke’s money. They don’t know that this was all Brooke’s idea. She was the one that proposed. She dragged Vanessa into this, not the other way around. She opens her mouth to defend her, but Vanessa is quicker. 

 

“Fuck you,” she spits venomously. “How fucking dare you? This really what you think of me, bitch?” There’s no build up. She goes directly to a ten. 

 

She isn’t directing it at the lawyers, she’s screaming at Brooke. 

 

The folder is hurled across the room and a vase shatters with its impact.  Divorce papers are showering down around them. It’s mayhem. But Brooke doesn’t care, all she can see is Vanessa running for the bedroom. 

 

She has to go after her. This can’t be how it ends. 

 

-x- 

 

_ “Vanessa Mateo, do you take Brooke Lynn Hytes to be your lawfully wedded wife?” _

 

_ Vanessa is rocking on the balls of her feet, likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol she’s been drinking. “I ain’t never been to a wedding before.” She hisses beneath her breath to Brooke. “Do I gotta some romantic shit? Cause all I can think about is how badly I want to fuck, but I don’t think you’re allowed to say that in a church.” _

 

_ Brooke snorts an ugly laugh and the minister glares at them both. They aren’t in a church, it’s brightly lit, tacky room attached to a casino that claims to be a chapel. She’s sure the minister has heard much, much worse.  _

 

_ “No baby, all you have to say is ‘I do.’”  _

 

_ “Right. Okay. Yeah. Okay, Mary, ask me again.” _

 

_ The minister clears his throat. “Do you, Vanessa Mateo-“ _

 

_ “I do.” _

 

_ Brooke cackles. “Let him finish!” _

 

_ “Do you, Vanessa Mateo, take Brooke Lynn Hytes to be your lawfully wedded wife?” _

 

_ “I sure as shit do.” _

 

_ Close enough.  _

 

_ “And do you, Brooke Lynn Hytes, take Vanessa Mateo to be your lawfully wedded wife?” _

 

_ Oh fuck. Well, it’s significantly different when the tables are turned and the question is on her. It seems that someone has sucked all of the air from the room.   _

 

_ “I…” _

 

_ “She does!” Vanessa interrupts. “She really fuckin does. Cause she wants to get all up in this fine Latina.” _

 

_ She’s not wrong.  _

 

_ God, is she making a terrible mistake?  _

 

_ Of course she is. She really fucking is.  _

 

_ The minister asks her the question again. He’s getting impatient, she suspects this is the last time he will ask.  _

 

_ “I do.” _

 

-x- 

 

“Fuck you.” Vanessa yells as she gathers up her things from the bedroom floor. 

 

“Vanessa-”

 

“Fuck you,” she screams louder. “You think you can make me out to be some sorta sluty hoodrat that’s tryna take all your money? Fuck you.You’re such an asshole, Brooke.” The laces of her boots are tangled but her hands are shaking too much to loosen them. She’s making it worse. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were going to do that.”

 

“It don’t matter that you didn’t know. Whatever you told them about me clearly wasn’t the truth, if they thought they needed to give me money to keep me quiet or whatever. I didn’t even know who you were last night, you really think I did this so that I’d have a story to tell or some coin in the bank? Look me in the eye and tell me that’s what you thought this was.”

 

The words sting because they’re accurate. Brooke didn’t actively tell her lawyers to assume the worst about Vanessa, but she didn’t correct them when they had. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Brooke says softly, stepping closer. She covers Vanessa’s hands with her own, to stop her fumbling with the boots. “Let me help you.”

 

Vanessa stops and looks up to meet Brooke’s eye. Her breathing is heavy and she looks so distraught and confused that Brooke is heartbroken. “I don’t wanna just sign some paper and never see you again. It’s complicated and we fucked up big time, but that don’t mean we have to just pretend it didn’t happen. I really like you, Brooke. I don’t want this to be over.”

 

_ Neither do I.  _

 

Brooke drops Vanessa’s hands like she’s been burned and takes a step back. She needs to keep her head straight. She doesn’t want this to be over, but it has to be. “Well, it is.”

 

Vanessa moves her hand to cup Brooke’s cheek. “Baby-”

 

Brooke pushes her hand away harshly.  Pushing Vanessa away will make this easier, she’s sure of it. “Listen, if you think this is some sort of fairytale romance where we get married on a whim, then drop everything in our lives to be stay together, then you’re fucking delusional. This is real life.”

 

It’s nasty. Way more harsh than it needs to be. But if it gets Vanessa to stop fighting the inevitable, it’s what has to be said. 

 

Tears are streaming down Vanessa’s cheeks, but she makes no move to wipe them away. 

 

“Why did you marry me?” she asks quietly. 

 

“Because I wanted to fuck you.”

 

“You knew I wanted to fuck you from the moment we met. That’s not why.” 

 

Brooke clenches her fists tighter. “Because I have an obsession with power and I need to be in control. I wanted you to be mine. Is that what you want to hear?” 

 

Vanessa shakes her head and takes a step closer. They’re inches apart.  “No,” she whispers, “because that ain’t it either.”

 

“Then do please enlighten me.” Brooke is looking away. Desperately trying not to cry.  

 

“I think, deep down, you married me cause you wanted to convince yourself that you’re the type of person that can be spontaneous and romantic. You picked me up cause you wanted an easy fuck, but as soon as you realised that it could be something real you acted on whatever rash, stupid ass impulse was going through your mind.” She cups Brooke’s face again and forces her to look down. “I think you wanted to believe in the fairytale.”

 

Brooke shakes her head. She’s wrong. She has to be wrong. This fucking woman, after less than a day, can’t know Brooke better than she knows herself. Brooke keeps herself sealed off like a vault, but Vanessa can see in without even trying. 

 

“Why did you say yes?”

 

“Cause I wanted to believe in it too.”

 

Brooke shakes her head again. It’s too much. It’s crazy. Insane. Not happening. She tries to move away but Vanessa catches her arm. There’s a brief struggle between them as Brooke tries escape but Vanessa won’t let her, then suddenly, they’re kissing. 

 

It’s needy and desperate. It’s everything. 

 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Brooke growls against her lips as she pushes her towards the bed. 

 

“I know.”

 

“I haven’t changed my mind. As soon as this is over, you sign the papers, we go back to our real lives.” 

 

“I know.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Good.”

 

Clothes are peeled off in a frenzy. Brooke’s lipstick is smudged across Vanessa’s face. It’s messy and frantic. 

 

This isn’t how Brooke likes sex to be. She likes every move to be precise and accurate. Vanessa’s hands tug at her, pulling her down onto the bed and guiding her to  where she wants her to be. Controlling her. She doesn’t usually like that either.

 

But somehow, she needs it. 

 

The fact that she needs it scares her more than it should. Fuck this. She’s retaking control. 

 

Vanessa is flat on her back, wrists pinned above her head before she can realise what’s happening. Brooke pauses briefly, searching her face for a signal that she can go on. Vanessa nods gently and it’s all she needs to see. 

 

It’s as though Brooke only understands what she wants as she’s doing it. She straddles her knees on either side of Vanessa’s head. “Fuck me,” she demands. 

 

The first press of Vanessa’s tongue is like fire. She lurches forwards and grasps at the headboard to steady herself, and Vanessa’s hands curl around her thighs. It’s fast and hard and uncoordinated. Somehow it’s the best sex that Brooke’s ever had. Maybe it’s because she needs it so fucking badly. 

 

She moves her left hand from the headboard and arches her back, reaching behind herself to toy with Vanessa’s clit, thanking the gods for her own flexibility. When she does, Vanessa bucks upwards to reach her touch. “Harder,” she gasps against Brooke’s thigh. 

 

Lost in her own bliss, Vanessa’s head falls back into the pillow, but Brooke takes the fingers of her right hand and winds them through her hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

 

She isn’t sure which one of them comes first, it’s too close to call. A moment or two of dazed silence passes before Brooke gets down to lay beside Vanessa. 

 

Brooke begs herself not to complicate things by doing something romantic. Like pull Vanessa in close to her chest. Or delicately brush the stray hairs from her face. Or ask her if she wants to tell the rest of the world to get fucked and run away together. 

 

She turns away. 

 

“This doesn’t change anything,” she reminds Vanessa, as she lets herself succumb to sleep. 

 

-

 

-

 

When she wakes up, the crumpled divorce papers are on the pillow beside her. 

 

They’re signed. 

 

Vanessa is gone. 

 

-x- 

 

The months that pass in the run up to Paris Fashion Week happens in a blur. She tries to put everything that happened in Vegas behind her, but it’s still there. Chewing away in the back of her mind. 

 

Constantly. 

 

She wishes she could switch off the memories and save them for only when she wants them. She wishes there was something she could do to stop the crippling pang of guilt in her chest that she gets every time she thinks about how it ended. 

 

She would give anything to not be in love. 

 

It’s opening night. So much is riding on this. She moves with purpose from model to model, checking every last element of her garments are perfect. Throwing herself into her work, being high on adrenaline and fear, it makes her forget about Vanessa. Almost.  

 

Show time. 

 

-x-

 

At the end of the night, she sits alone in the backstage area. All the models have left to celebrate their first night of freedom. Most of the designers, makeup artists and support staff have gone with them. All the rest have the good sense to leave Brooke alone. 

 

The collection was a success. Her agent has been taking calls for interviews and collaborations all night. She was on the map before, but this will really send her to the top. It’s everything she’s ever wanted. 

 

And she feels fucking  _ nothing.  _

 

She’s empty. Numb to the joy. Numb to the pain. This is not how she’s supposed to be feeling. She tells herself that as soon as the shock wears off and reality hits home, she’s going to start feeling the elation, even though she knows it isn’t true. 

 

All she can think about is how much of a terrible mistake she made. 

 

What if Vanessa was the one? She’s been the only woman to make Brooke feel like she believes in love. What if nobody can make her feel that way again? What if she’s thrown away her shot at happiness? She gambles to take risks. Be bold. Be daring. So why couldn’t she have taken the chance on Vanessa? 

 

It’s not like they were going to stay married and live happily ever after, but why did that have to be the end of it? Why couldn’t they have just gotten to know each other like two normal people? There’s so much about Vanessa that she doesn’t know. That she will never know. 

 

A knock at the door breaks her from her trance. A man from security, wearing a black suit and an earpiece, enters. 

 

“Madame Hytes?” he asks, in a thick French accent.

 

She nods her head. 

 

“A woman claiming to be your ex-wife has tried to enter the building three separate times. You ought to be aware, in case she accosts you in the street.”

 

She blinks rapidly and shakes her head in disbelief. It’s a crazed fan. It’s a joke. It’s not her. It can’t be. 

 

“I understand.” Her voice is trembling. “What does this woman look like?” She’s not hopeful. She rationalises the question by thinking that, if this is some kind of stalker situation, she’ll at least know who to avoid. She  _ definitely  _ isn’t hopeful. 

 

“Very small. Brown hair. American-”

 

“Let her in.” She cuts him off. 

 

That description fit millions of women, but there’s no doubt in Brooke’s mind that it’s her. 

 

“Madame Hytes-”

 

“I said let her in.”

 

He nods sharply and leaves the room. Leaves Brooke to wait alone. She prays to a god she doesn’t believe in. 

 

The seconds tick by like hours. 

 

It’s her. 

 

The door opens and she’s standing there. Drenched from the rain, trailing a suitcase behind her, grinning like a fool. 

 

Brooke shakes her head and laughs. This isn’t real. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I had to see you, Mami. You know, they make it damn hard for a person to get into one of these things without a ticket.”

 

“You couldn’t have just called?”

 

“I wanted to see your face. I didn’t even know what city you live in, but I heard you talking on the phone about Paris Fashion Week so I figured you’d be here.” She shrugs as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

 

“How could you afford to-” 

 

Vanessa cuts her off. “I pawned the ring you gave me. Coulda flown to Paris and back again with the money.” 

 

Brooke narrows her eyes. “What do you mean ‘and back’? Did you not buy a return ticket?”

 

“Hell no, Mami. Fuck going home. Not when my wife is here.”

 

“Ex-wife.” Brooke chuckles. 

 

“Right.”

 

This is insane. Neither of them can speak and the tension is thick in the air. 

 

Vanessa drops the case and takes a few steps closer. “I had to see you,” she says softly. 

 

“You’re shivering.” Brooke points out the obvious and Vanessa nods with a smirk. 

 

Fuck. This can’t be real. She shakes her head again and takes a step backwards. “You’re insane.” She breathes out through a smile. “You’ve flown halfway around the world for… for what exactly?”

 

“I told you. I had to see you.” 

 

“Why?”

 

“I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too,” she chokes out. She doesn’t know if she’s laughing or crying. “This is crazy,” Brooke whispers as she raises her hands to cup Vanessa’s cheeks. “Normal people don’t do this, you realise that?”

 

“I know.”

 

Brooke has spent months thinking about what she would say to Vanessa if she ever saw her again, but the words won’t come. 

 

“Are you gonna kiss me or something? Cause I wanna get outa these wet clothes. Fuck coming all the way to Europe just to die from the flu.”

 

She can’t do anything but laugh. She’d expected Vanessa to have some movie-quality speech prepared about taking chances and love at first sight and all that other bullshit. But she really did just come all this way to say ‘I miss you’. 

 

“We know nothing about each other.” Brooke tries to keep a grasp on reality. 

 

“We know enough.” 

 

“What if we can’t make it work?”

 

“What if we  _ can _ ?”

 

Her chest tightens as her walls come tumbling down around her. “I’m scared.” She whispers. 

 

“I am too.”

 

That’s all Brooke needs to hear. She lowers her lips to capture Vanessa’s in a kiss. They melt into one another’s touch, pulling each other closer. 

 

Maybe it’s destined to fail, but Brooke is sure as hell going to give it everything she’s got first.    
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr at youre-a-kite with any requests. 
> 
> Feedback and constructive criticism is welcome ❤️


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